


i would cross oceans to find you

by bstarship



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, Kidnapped Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Worried May Parker (Spider-Man), Worried Tony Stark, but with my own little twist, just your classic kidnapping fic, sorry peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26297788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship
Summary: Six months ago, Peter Parker was kidnapped. Tony refuses to give up hope, but there's just no proof to guide him.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 37
Kudos: 213





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i guess i just figured that the world doesn't have enough fics where peter is kidnapped lmaooo sorry pete !

Tony had fallen asleep again. 

He never remembered feeling tired, but he always awoke quickly from his anxious dreams to feel the chill of the metal workbench below him. Papers and dated reports would stick to his chin from the puddle of drool he slept in. From his curled spine, he would unravel as his joints popped one by one, aching and taut from their stagnant position. He never remembered falling asleep, yet he always remembered the fear he felt when waking up. The panic he endured had one initial cause these days.

Bright screens and holographic displays swirled around him as he slept. On a regular basis, it wasn’t an unlikely scene to unfold. Yet now, news broadcasts, police reports, and tracking data filtered through his software all day and night, and at the top left-hand corner, a missing person ad was blown up in full volume. Peter Parker hadn’t been seen in 185 days, 15 hours, and 35 minutes—give or take a few. 

Tony was lucky to get an hour of sleep these days. 

He stirred awake to a calming voice, heaviness slipping from his shoulders once the voice grew with his consciousness. As he knuckled his eyes and straightened his back, he identified the voice as FRIDAY. She sounded too dream-like to be real.

 _“Boss, you oughta wake up,”_ she said while a yawn wracked through him, _“I have an update on Mister Parker.”_

Tony’s attention snapped back to reality in an instant. All measurements of sleep had vanished without warning. “Well, why didn’t you wake me sooner?” he asked, ignoring how fast his heart beat in his chest. The tremor in his hands showed his anxiety well. “Got a location? Please tell me you know exactly where he is. God, that’d be nice.” 

_“I wish that were the case, but no.”_

Tony sighed and ran his hands along his face. Six months of nothing but hope. No proof. Not a single lead to direct him to Peter.

 _“An abandoned car was reported in Brooklyn last night,”_ the AI explained. _“Bay Ridge, to be exact.”_

“So, we’ve got a plate?” he asked. He didn’t know why he feared the best yet expected the worst. No news, in an optimistic way, meant good news. He was terrified of news. “Registration? Maybe a license? That’d make my life easy.” 

_“Too easy.”_

“Yeah, probably.”

 _“Unfortunately,”_ continued the AI, _“there’s no proof of ownership. The only possible evidence found was a cell phone. The same model and make of Mister Parker’s. The police have not been successful in turning it on.”_

Tony blinked a few times as he registered the news. There weren’t many updates these days. They had initially begun the investigation with little to no evidence, and six months—plus a hundred interviews, countless nights of security footage monitoring, and plate checks of every car within a fifty-mile radius—later, they had nothing. Tony had nothing. 

“Don’t let those NYPD assholes keep it,” he said, tapping his knuckles against the desk. “They’ll lock it up in their evidence storage for ten years until those phones aren’t even made anymore. Then they’ll have nothing to do with it. I don’t want them looking at that phone. Tell ‘em to send it here.” 

_“Will do, boss,”_ FRIDAY said. _“And, if you were wondering, the car they found was a 2011 blue Toyota Corolla. Two scrapes on its passenger door and rust on its rear bumper.”_

“Oh yeah, that’ll be a fun time,” he mumbled and uncapped a day-old water bottle. The sarcasm was clear as he said, “let’s search the entirety of Brooklyn and Queens to see if a blue Corolla just so happened to be hangin’ around on June 8th this past summer. That’ll really clear things up.”

_“Would you rather me not search?”_

Tony sighed. “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he mumbled to himself. “Fine. Track down any blue Corolla from 2011 that you can find. You’re better at this than me anyway.” 

_“Right away.”_

“And tell Rhodey I wanna meet him for lunch,” Tony said. “He’s good at distractions.”

Unfortunately for Tony, distractions never lasted forever. 

A hole-in-the-wall joint in Tribeca with greasy bar food and foosball was where he met up with Rhodey. The long-time college friend had already sat himself at a high top in the back with a diet coke and two baskets of french fries. When Tony walked in, the room became his, but eyes quickly averted once he held his arms out to his friend for a hug.

“‘Bout time,” Rhodey muttered before settling back into his seat. His smile was a nice, comforting touch—a well-needed one at that. “You know I would’ve left if you took any longer.”

Tony hopped up into the chair across from his friend and slapped the table. “I don’t doubt it. Are these beer-battered?” He pointed to the fries. 

“It’s not their usual style, but I had them make it special for your needy ass,” Rhodey explained with a laugh. 

Tony quickly dove in, grabbing a handful between pinched fingers as he quirked a brow. He hadn’t been starving—a dash of kale on avocado toast sufficed for the morning, but in the presence of Rhodey, Tony had to keep himself busy. He had to focus his brain on anything other than Peter and his personal investigation. He didn’t doubt that Rhodey would ask. 

“How’s work?” Tony asked as he took a sip of his friend’s soda. He still had a few fries waiting patiently in his other hand. “Doing secret stuff? Stuff you can’t tell me? You know, if you ever needed help, you know right where to find me.”

Rhodey watched Tony eat in curious amusement. _Worried_ amusement. He nodded skeptically and said, “yeah, yeah. Work’s good. We’re always doing secret stuff. You know how it is. But you helping? Right. Don’t think so.”

Tony stuffed a few fries in his mouth and hummed. “Totally. Makes sense.”

“Jesus, Tones, slow down,” Rhodey said. “You’re like a rabid squirrel. You’ve got to relax.”

“Now that’s an interesting word—” Tony set his hands on his lap once he realized where the conversation was bound to go. “ _—relax._ Never heard that one before.”

“I mean it. Seriously. Just chill out.”

“Sounds so easy when you say it.”

“How much coffee have you had today?” Rhodey asked. 

Tony ground his teeth together gently before laughing. It was a dry, unconvincing laugh. “Somewhere between zero and six cups. I’ll tell you if you’re hot or cold.”

Rhodey sighed, and it was clear that his blanket worry ran deeper than what Tony assumed. He kept his hands pressed to his lips, elbows against the table as he searched for words to say. There wasn’t an easy way to tiptoe around the subject. Not with someone so bold as Tony. “You know, you’ve got so many people still lookin’ for him,” Rhodey said, “if that’s what’s bugging you out.”

Tony huffed. “Yeah, sure,” he mumbled, sitting back. “Detective Mendes who has been wading blue waters in Turks and Caicos for two weeks with his twenty-four-year-old wife. Sure looks like he’s working hard.” 

“I didn’t mean Detective Mendes.” Rhodey sent a hard stare across the table. “I meant me. Look, you’ve gotta try to understand—I’ve got friends from the force looking, too. We’re all trying.”

“What?” Tony said, taken aback as he furrowed his brows. “You’re saying you have other friends than me?”

“What I’m saying, Tony—” Rhodey rubbed at his temple and sighed again. “—is that you’re not alone. Six months is a long time to be anxious over something—something that you don’t have to do _alone_. I know I’ve barely met the kid—had him riding on my ass in Germany for a spare minute—but with all that you’ve told me about him, I know he can hold his own. He’s not a hopeless case.”

Tony looked around the room. “No, you see,” he said, “the problem isn’t that I don’t trust him, Rhodey. Okay? Cos’ I do. I know he’s a tough kid. The problem is that it’s been six months. Six _f_ _ucking_ months. People lose hope. May—for heaven’s sake—the kid’s aunt has started to lose hope. _I_ can’t lose hope.”

“I know that,” Rhodey told him. “I’m not telling you to lose hope. I’m just telling you to keep living—not only—for him but also for yourself. Whether you believe it’s true or not, you’re just human—no matter how many people think that you’re actually just a robot in disguise. And you’re not doing yourself any favors by holing yourself up in that pigpen–cesspool you got back home. I know your mental state, man. That cannot be good for you.”

“How do you know what’s best for me?” Tony grumbled.

“Honestly, by this point, I definitely know more than you.”

He wasn’t pleased with the conversation, nor did he care for the unwarranted advice, but it didn’t mean it was wrong. Rhodey, in his own way, was hardly wrong, especially when it came to Tony. But Rhodey didn’t know Peter. He never saw how much he meant to Tony, only heard about him in conversation. Rhodey had once lost Tony for three months. So far, Peter had been missing for six. 

“Is this how you felt?” Tony asked after a while. He rapped his knuckles on the table, keeping his gaze locked on his hands so he wouldn’t have to see Rhodey’s worry anymore. 

“When the entire world thought you were dead?” Rhodey wondered, chuckling. “Yeah. Everyone thought I was an idiot to keep looking. They told me there was no way in hell you’d still be alive. But I kept trying. Then we got word about explosives going off on the side of a mountain—one you were captured by, so we found hope again. Everyone wants to keep fighting, Tony, even when it feels hopeless. I’m not telling you to lose hope. I’m telling you that you have a tendency to over-obsess and you’ve gotta take care of yourself. You’re not gonna be able to save Peter when you’re practically a dead man.”

Tony twisted his lips and shrugged. “Practically been a dead man since ‘87.” 

“Oh, really?” A smile grew on Rhodey’s face. “That cos’ you met me? I killed you?”

“Killed my spirit, more like it,” Tony said, once again taking a sip of the diet coke. “Made me study and do _work_. Got me to graduate summa cum laude even though I should’ve been expelled.”

“Yeah, you were a real changed man after that,” said Rhodey as he slid his drink closer to himself. “Never drank. Never partied. Always worked.”

“I’m the poster child of never partying.”

Truth be told, their comfortable laughter was needed—much more than Tony realized. While his fingers were numb, heart still heavy in his chest, Tony—in a strange, foreign way—felt slightly relaxed. The company of his friend had calmed his nerves. Not a lot did these days, and despite Pepper’s best attempts to get him to enjoy bubble baths, the hot, sudsy water never did the trick. 

Rhodey was right. Tony had become obsessed. Obsessed with needing to know every drop of information out there. Obsessed with making sure he would be the one to get Peter home in one piece. Because despite the darkest parts of his brain telling him that it might not be worth it—that Peter might no longer be alive—Tony had to keep searching. He had to. Peter deserved it. 

Tony was back at his desk that night, feet propped on the surface as he watched old security camera footage he had memorized down to the second. He never expected to find anything. In the footage from Delmar’s, Peter walked in at 3:01 in the afternoon and waved at the man behind the counter. Their conversation was short—only lasting thirty seconds—and his sandwich was made in less than a minute. Nevertheless, Tony replayed the clip until he was numb to the smile on Peter’s face. An innocent, naïve smile that was missing from Tony’s life.

Some nights, when the surreal thoughts finally sunk in, Tony wondered if Peter had known all along. If he had known he would disappear. If he had known about the danger lurking or if it was his own decision to begin with. Tony couldn’t stop the questions from overwhelming his mind. He knew Peter would never run away without another word. He knew the kid’s senses were heightened when in danger. He only hoped that Peter hadn’t been scared. 

That thought kept Tony awake at night. 

When Peter left Delmar’s that day, he only made it one street over before he no longer showed up in any security camera footage along the way. But that was it. The streets had been searched a million times over. Any proof of Peter’s disappearance didn’t exist. Tony started to wonder if Peter even existed at all, or perhaps he was a figment of his imagination. The idea didn’t come as much of a shock. 

Tony sighed and set his feet back onto the floor. The videos had been playing on repeat for hours. Nothing was new. 

“Can you run plates again?” he said into his hand, elbow pressed down hard against his desk. He stared blankly across the room. “Make a list of where the cars have been, who they belong to, and where they want. Another list. In case we missed anything before.”

 _“I never miss anything,”_ the AI answered. _“You programmed me to be thorough. And everyone has already been interviewed. Some twice over. Car owners, shop owners, and anyone who was in the area that day. It’s all been done, boss.”_

Tony bit his lip. “Don’t care. Do it again. Just—just keep looking for holes in the evidence.”

_“There is no evidence.”_

“Please.” His tone was dry, unamused. “Just keep checking.”

 _“On it, boss_. _”_

He swiveled in his chair, bones aching from sitting in one position for too long, so he stood up slowly. He kept his back toward the screens and holograms above his desk. Even his eyes burned from overexposure, an ocular headache brewing within. This wasn’t healthy for him, and Rhodey had told him that. But this wasn’t about him. 

_“Boss.”_

Tony’s heart rate picked up for a moment. “Did you find anything?” he asked, turning around. He was faced with a screen of familiar information. Vitals. A tracked location on the Parker residence. A sign that someone was alive.

_“The suit is in use.”_

“Call it.” He fell back into his chair with ease. “FRIDAY, call the suit right—”

A low ringing echoed around his workshop. Within a moment, the call was picked up. 

“Tony?”

A sigh washed over him. “May, hey,” he said. “You’re—you’re in the suit? Why’re you in the suit?”

“That’s a good question,” she told him, laughing quietly. “I don’t even know. I mean—no, I’m not _in_ the suit. Just the mask, which smells, by the way. Teenagers are disgusting. But I realized that I’ve never actually… done it before. Wore it, that is. It’s crazy teched out. You did all this for him?”

Tony smiled. It was a small smile, but he didn’t hear a lot of praise these days, especially not from May. “I did my best. Sorry about the smell. Try baby powder. I can get it dry cleaned whenever.” 

“We haven’t spoken in a while,” she said. 

Tony’s smile fell. “Yeah, no, we haven’t. You doing well?”

She chuckled, but it wasn’t a real laugh. “Doing the best I can,” she answered. “I didn’t think you were gonna call. Did you know that it was me wearing the mask?”

“No, actually. Hoped it was—”

“Peter,” she said for him. “Sorry to get your hopes up. I really am.”

“No harm done, May.”

“I didn’t wanna touch the suit, you know?” May continued, voice cracking but only barely. “Didn’t even wanna look at it. I-I couldn’t go in his room for the longest time. It’s just—it’s so empty in there, Tony. How have I done it? How have I even managed to cope without him?”

Tony’s heart broke for her. “Been asking myself the same question,” he mumbled. 

“I just got too curious,” she said. “You’ve got everything in this mask. I can see my neighbor reading in his room—which is actually really weird now that I think about it. Are you turning my nephew into a creep?”

He couldn’t focus on the words she said, only thought about the pressure she put on herself to keep her head held high. She searched for distractions when he couldn’t. As she said, they hadn’t spoken in a while. He couldn’t bear to pretend as though everything was okay.

“I’m really sorry, May,” Tony said. 

“For trying to turn my nephew into a creep?”

“No.”

“Oh.” She paused for a moment. “Tony, you don’t have to—”

“I want you to hear it,” he said, clenching his jaw tight to keep calm, “and I want you to know why.”

May was silent. So, he carried on. 

“I hold a lot of guilt,” he told her, “and before you tell me that I don’t need to—bullshit. We both know this wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for me. I didn’t think about the consequences of stringing him along. Didn’t think about what could happen if I took him under my wing. I just—how could I not have assumed that some asshole would target a fifteen-year-old kid? Sixteen, actually. God—” Tony rubbed his hands down his face. “—we didn’t get to celebrate his birthday.” 

“It just terrifies me to think about, y’know?” he continued. “To think that he could be hurt in any way. There’s no telling what these people might know if there are even people at all. I just have a hunch that’s the case. And I know you feel the same about this. I’m sorry I haven’t been someone for you to talk to. But I want you to know that you can. If you need to talk about this, you can talk to me. I’m probably not your best option, but at least I’m something.” 

“Thank you,” May said slowly. “I know what you mean—I have this feeling that he’s out there. Somewhere.” 

“I can’t believe there’s _nothing_ ,” Tony muttered as he stood up to pace. “No evidence. No ugly face popping up on our TVs just to brag about taking him. _Nothing._ ”

Not even a body, but the thought made Tony sick to his stomach. He would never mention it aloud. 

“I know,” she said. “It doesn’t feel real. And I know you didn’t want me to say this, but Tony—please do not blame yourself. I know you’ll never believe me when I say that it’s not your fault. How could you have known? I’m just as much to blame as you are then. We didn’t know. But Peter— _our_ Peter—he’s a tough one. He’ll be back.”

Tony could hear Rhodey in her words. He could hear six months of repetitive conversations flooding his mind as May’s voice echoed in his head. It occurred to Tony that he had a difficult time trusting others and trusting fate. He never chose the positive route because it never worked out in his favor. How could he trust that things would turn out well when they hardly ever did? 

All the while, May and Rhodey knew what they were talking about. Life had granted them hardships, yet they looked toward the bright side even when things were gray. He didn’t know how they did it. 

Peter would know. Peter always knew. 

These days, Tony felt too much and showed too little. Losing Peter had tipped him over the edge.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony’s long nights no longer consisted of strung out tinkering sessions until his bloodshot eyes met the brink of day. The rarity of old nightmares never relapsed at a moment's notice because he could barely sleep a wink if he tried. While he stared at screens until sunrise, Peter was out there somewhere. Lost. Scared. Or the unimaginable.

Days were spent hoping the facts would come naturally. Tony was terrified of news, but news was the only way Peter would turn up alive. The cycle was never-ending. 

Rhodey and his _friends_ had delved deep for information that Tony hadn’t originally gotten his hands on. Time cards from nearby shops, withdrawals from the bank across the street, criminal records from potential suspects, and so on. It was an early Christmas gift that led him nowhere. While the new details were enough to make Tony kiss his friend’s cheeks, they weren’t enough for a breakthrough. 

But then again, sometimes Tony could admit that he was wrong. 

At night, when the only things on his mind were a bowl of chocolate ice cream and “Hot Stuff” by Donna Summer, Tony was wed on the idea that his info-dump pursuit was a dead-end job. He could sense the agitation crawling through him as ice cream melted on his spoon. When a droplet of chocolate fell onto an old time card sheet from Delmar’s, it took everything in Tony not to throw the papers that were on his desk far across the room. 

As he pressed two fingers along the bridge of his nose and exhaled, he caught sight of an unfamiliar name, and his brain went to work. 

“Hey—uh, Fri?” Tony mumbled as he furrowed his brows in thought. He flicked at the time card a few times. “Pull up the interview transcript of that Delmar guy. Is there anything in there about another employee?” 

A typed transcript displayed on the holographic screens before him. There was a paragraph of words on the second page highlighted in orange. 

_“Two minutes and twenty-two seconds into the interview, the employee Angelo Fortunato is mentioned when the employer is asked if anyone else saw Mister Parker that day,”_ explained the AI. _“Mister Fortunato was said to have been on his break around three in the afternoon, therefore, he did not see Mister Parker. He has not been interviewed._ "

Tony scratched at his chin and sat up in his chair. “Well, why hasn’t he been interviewed?” 

_“The employee no longer works at Delmar’s and cannot be located_. _"_

This made Tony’s heart rate spike. Six months of nothing and now he possibly had _something_. He glanced down at the time card in his hands—Angelo’s time card, a man that was now missing and couldn’t prove his innocence. A man whose time card recorded that his break was at two o’clock when Delmar mentioned that it had been at three. Tony wondered why none of this had shown up months ago. 

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to run a background check on this guy _stat_ ,” Tony said quickly. The words threatened to trip up on his tongue as he shoved away his bowl of unfinished ice cream. “Criminal records, travel history, past and current addresses—all that creepy stuff. Find out if he’s purchased any cars within the past ten years. Just—just tell me _everything_.”

He didn’t think it was too excessive. When it came to Peter’s life, Tony would never mess around. He had a moral obligation to protect that kid at all costs, even if he refused to believe that the connection ran deeper. So what if he felt a little pang of pride every time the kid invented some spankin’ new gadget? So what if he chewed his nails to bits every time Peter’s suit vitals dropped in number? So what if he couldn’t eat a full meal for two months after Peter went missing all because he was too anxious to try?

 _“Angelo Fortunato has been arrested twice on accounts of assault and battery,”_ FRIDAY told him as a page or two of a criminal record showed up before him. 

“Why do I recognize that last name?” Tony thought aloud. 

_“In 2013, he purchased a car off a dealer in Bayonne.”_

He hummed. “Bayonne. Interesting. A little far for just a car, don’t you think? What’s the make?”

_“A blue 2011 Toyota Corolla.”_

Tony’s hands froze over his keyboard as the intelligence’s words replayed in his mind. “You’ve gotta be absolutely shitting me.”

_“Unfortunately, boss, I’m not.”_

He was up and out of his chair in a matter of milliseconds, heart racing and hands flying up to his hand to tug at the strands. This was the most helpful piece of information he had gotten since day one of his investigation. All it took was an ordinary time card to fuel his suspicions. 

“Fri, let May Parker know that I’m heading over to her place,” he said as he threw a jacket around his shoulders. “I need to check something out, and I’m gonna need Peter’s help to do it.”

Peter’s room hadn’t been touched since he went missing. There were dirty socks strewn across the floor, an unfinished LEGO set on the kid’s desk, and a phone charger still plugged into the wall. After a quick conversation with May over tea, Tony headed straight for Peter’s notebooks. 

He knew Peter well enough by that point to hear about how he planned out his nights. Over time, Peter collected names and locations for his gig as a masked vigilante, and he stored everything in spiral-bound, college-ruled notebooks in the drawers of his desk. Tony used to make fun of him for it. Now, the notebooks were partial to discovering Peter’s whereabouts. 

They were stuffed full of photographs, newspaper clippings, and random bits of information the kid has collected from the streets. The one thing that Tony was looking for was information on a certain crime syndicate he had heard about in passing. 

“So, this is how he does it?” May muttered from her spot at the bedroom door. She looked down on Tony with a cup of tea in her hands as he childishly threw himself down onto the floor. The notebooks were open and scattered around him.

“Guess so,” Tony replied. “Disorganized with an extreme case of chicken scratch fever.”

“His handwriting’s actually very neat, you know,” she said, lowering herself down beside him. “Spent a hundred bucks on some online course a few years back so he could work on it. The teachers used to deduct points for how much they couldn’t read his writing.”

Tony held a notebook close to his face and squinted. “I give this one a C-minus.”

May chuckled. “He writes fast when he’s excited. What are you looking for anyway?”

“Well—” He sighed, and the notebook slapped back down to the floor. “—I think I’m onto something. _I think_. It won’t really make sense if I explain it.”

Something flashed in May’s eyes, and a smile grew on her cheeks. “Anything is better than nothing. What can I do to help?”

“Take a few notebooks—the kid has a billion—and start searching for anything relating to a criminal gang of sorts,” Tony told her. “Like a mafia, crime family—that sort of thing.” 

Her eyebrows raised. “You don’t think—?”

“Let’s just hope not.”

They sat on the floor for twenty minutes, searching every page over a handful of times before either of them found something worthwhile. Each of the ten notebooks had been filled to the very last page. Tony wasn’t sure how the kid had the time for this, but he was thankful. Thankful that Peter put effort and research into things before putting himself in harm’s way. Nevertheless, he still continued to have brainless moments. 

May tapped at Tony’s knee a few times to get his attention. When he looked over, she was engrossed in the scratchy writing of a notebook she had held up to her face. Her eyes went wide as she read.

“I’m guessing you found something,” he said once she didn’t speak up. 

“I-I think so,” she whispered, and a few seconds later, she set the notebook in his lap and pointed halfway down the page. Small clippings of news articles were surrounded by bullet points and notes. The word _Maggia_ was written in bold letters. 

“It’s a crime syndicate he’s been researching,” May continued. “It goes on for pages. See?” She flipped through at least a dozen pages before settling back on the first. “I don’t know anything about what you’re looking for, but it seems spicy to me. Maybe it could help.”

Tony’s eyebrows were pulled in taut. He vaguely remembered hearing about the Maggia when Peter was over at his workshop after school. They weren’t long conversations, and Tony was zoned out half of the time, but the memory was there. “This is great—no, this is really great, May, thank you.”

“Here—” She flipped to the next page where two photographs were clipped in. “It’s one of the families involved.”

The name was there. _Fortunato_ , dark and bold. Underneath the first photograph, the name Vincente Fortunato had been written. Angelo Fortunato, the other man’s son, had been written below the second photograph. 

“Shit, _shit_ ,” Tony gasped out, rubbing his temple. “This is it. _This is it_.” He lept to his feet with no intention of anything other than to pace the room. 

May slowly followed and held his arm to stop him. “Tony. _Tony._ ”

His feet froze in place. 

“What is going on?” she asked, eyes wide and pleading. “Tell me. Please.”

He let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay. This guy—this Angelo guy—used to work at Delmar’s. He worked there on the day that Peter went missing, and you’d think that he would’ve been interviewed; right? No. He vanished. Poof. No trace of whereabouts. _Until_ a car was found in Brooklyn. The same make of car that this Fortunato fellow bought seven years ago. And a cell phone that looked identical to Peter’s was found in the car. We’ve had nothing for all this time, May, and I think—” Tony flicked at the notebook. “I really think we have something here.”

May was taken aback by the information, mouth slightly ajar as she processed what he said. After a few seconds, she quietly asked, “and we don’t know where he is?”

Tony shook his head. “Not a clue.”

“So, we’re back to square one.”

“No, no, that’s not true,” he said, pointing to a few bullet points beneath the guy’s photograph. “Pete says that there’s a bar in Brooklyn that Angelo has been spotted at a few times. If I go there, I may be able to sop up some information. We’ve got too much to go on now—there won’t be a dead end. I promise you.”

Tony didn’t know if he believed his own words, but he wanted to show May that he would walk to the ends of the earth to find her nephew. He had momentum now. He was an unstoppable force of pure, incandescent adrenaline.

May digested his words and nodded feverishly. “Okay, okay. You go get my nephew back, Tony Stark, or you’ll be crying like a baby at the lawsuit I’ll pull on your ass.”

He cracked a grin before pulling her into a hug. “You have my word, May. I always keep my promises.”

Tony’s only hint of disguise was a baseball cap from Peter’s closet. In theory, the idea had seemed smart. He planned to walk into that dive bar off of Third Ave with distasteful style, billionaire-persona pushed aside entirely. The minute he entered the vicinity armorless and empty-handed, an assortment of eyes were on him. He hadn’t prepared for this. 

“Easy peasy,” he muttered to himself, smiling tightly and nodding at the strangers beside the pool table. This wasn’t his forte—blending in. These days, he didn’t know if he would be considered a friend or a foe. 

He had his sights set on the bartender at the back. In movies, bartenders seemed to know everything about the place and its patrons. But maybe Tony had spent a little too much time around Peter. 

The energy that accompanied his presence was familiar, like eyes and bodies had followed him to his final destination. Tony had a feeling that his knuckles would punch themselves raw by the end of the night. Once he set his elbows down onto the bar’s countertop, a rough hand met his shoulder. 

“Stark,” a low voice said. 

Tony titled his chin to peer over his shoulder. A man in a dark beanie stared back. “Oh, hey. Nice to see you. Care for a beer?”

Another hand met his other shoulder. Within a second, he was forcefully twisted around to face four smirks and a scowl. He decided that he felt more comfortable with the guy scowling over the rest. 

Beanie guy fisted Tony’s t-shirt and tugged him closer. “You’ve got no business here,” he said. 

Tony chuckled nervously. “Right. Of course. This bar’s off-limits. I get it. If you’ll just let me—”

The man’s grip tightened.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have pretty eyes?” Tony said. A second later, he was being shoved out through the back door. His shoulder met the cold brick wall of an alleyway as the men gathered around him. “I take that as a _no_.”

“You really think you can just walk in here and expect people to kiss your feet?” beanie guy asked. 

“Actually, I really just wanted a gin and tonic.” 

A fist collided with Tony’s cheek, throwing him back against the wall with painful force. It radiated through his cheek and left him momentarily paralyzed in place. 

“You’re just some pathetic billionaire scum that feeds off other people’s labor and steals jobs away from guys like us,” another man said, taking a few steps closer so Tony could see the whites of his eyes in the moonlight. “But tonight, we’re gonna show you how we take revenge.” 

“Oh, God, no,” Tony pleaded sarcastically. “Not revenge. Anything but revenge.”

Another punch was thrown into his stomach. He doubled over, face toward his knees as he clutched his torso tightly. But as fast as he went down, a hand grabbed him by the throat and brought him right back up. 

Tony filled his lungs with as much air as he could, but the impact of his back hitting the wall once again tore the air back out. The man strengthened his grasp and spit in Tony’s face. 

With a disgusted grimace, Tony brought his elbow up and slammed it down against the man’s forearm. The action freed him with enough time to kick the man in the groin. However, with five against one, Tony knew that he barely stood a chance.

He called out for a suit with a few taps to his wristwatch, meanwhile, taking kicks and punches until he was forced into a fetal position on the ground. He could taste smooth metallic liquid from his nose drip onto his lips. Every kick felt like a knife to his ribcage, and soon enough, he was coughing blood up onto the concrete. The air smelled of piss and rotten food from a nearby dumpster. 

The suit landed within moments, and the sound of its impact reverberated through Tony’s bruised chest. He only had a few seconds to crawl up on his feet and into the suit before the startled men returned to his side. Their vengeance was justified in his eyes, only he wished he didn’t have to walk around with twenty bruises because of it. 

Once the faceplate of the Iron Man suit shut, Tony didn’t waste another minute. He took down four of the men with gentle blasts and nose-breaking punches until they were knocked cold on the ground. The last man—beanie guy—had begun to back away.

“Ah—not so fast,” Tony said, holding the man up against the brick wall with an arm. The look of panic was refreshing. “You’re gonna tell me what you know about the Fortunato family, ‘kay?” 

The man nodded. “Y-yeah. Yeah. Whatever. Fine. They’re part of the Maggia. Angelo is the Don’s son.”

Tony dug the metal of his suit’s arm into the man’s chest. “And?"

“A-and they got this—this distillery in Brooklyn,” he sputtered. “It’s been in the family for generations.”

“Where?”

“Bay Ridge. Big brick building. Can’t miss it.”

Tony dropped his arm after that, watching as the beanie guy immediately took off in the opposite direction of the alley. As a goodbye present, Tony aimed at a stack of cardboard boxes and sent a blast that way. 

“Okay,” he said with a sigh. He could still taste the blood on his lips, and every breath hurt. A nap seemed like heaven. “Got all that FRIDAY? Take me there.”

He hadn’t been in the air long enough to get a minute of shut-eye before the suit landed next to a brick building beside the water. A graffitied truck was parked to his left. 

“Scan the place for me, hun,” he muttered. The exhaustion ran through him like a raging river, but the last thing he needed to do was give up when he still had so far to go. If Peter was in there, then Tony was finding him tonight. 

An infrared scan of the building showed a few lifeforms inside, all seated close together at a table without making any drastic movements. It was the perfect layout for an easy execution. 

_“The front door is locked,”_ said the AI, _“but you may be able to sneak in through the back loading door.”_

“This isn’t the loading door?” Tony asked, eyeing the ugly truck beside him. Nevertheless, he followed her instructions and snuck in with only a creaky door hinge to announce his presence. None of the figures moved at the sound. 

He hid behind pillars as he approached and took in his surroundings. For the most part, the warehouse was empty. Two levels with a mezzanine overlooked by a skylight. The men sat at a card table in the middle, playing blackjack with beer and potato chips around them as their conversation carried through the building. 

“Yeah, I think Vincente’s pretty pissed off at me, to be honest,” one said, sorting through the fan of cards in his hand. 

“That’s just cos’ he wanted the package transferred two days ago,” another stated. “Now he’s gotta sit there ‘til Vinny comes back in town.”

The names of the four men flashed through Tony’s heads-up display. The Angelo Fortunato guy was one of them. 

“It’s not my fault he wanted me to do it during my daughter’s ballet recital,” the first guy said. “Maybe he shouldn’t have left town. Then he’d be happy.” 

Angelo snorted. “My dad’s never happy.”

Tony decided to make his entrance after that. He came in from behind Angelo with quiet steps. “Yeah, you’ll wanna hit that,” Tony said, pointing to the cards in the man’s hand. “Not a pretty deal you got there.”

In a matter of seconds, all four of the men stood and pointed their guns at Tony. He raised his arms high. 

“I surrender,” he said as the RT unit in his chest charged. “Just kidding.” 

A unibeam shot in the direction of the table, sending the four men flying back with it. Cards, chips, and beer bottles were knocked down to the floor. 

Two of the men hit their heads on impact, and as Tony sent a few blasts and punches at one man, he stood on the chest of Angelo Fortunato. After a second, it was down to the two of them.

Tony charged the repulsor in his hand and pointed it at Angelo. “Where is he?” he growled. “Where’s Peter?”

Angelo wrapped his hands around the metal boot on his chest, but he failed to force it off of him. “Who—who the hell are you talking about?” he asked, exasperated. 

“Peter—your _precious package._ ” The faceplate of Tony’s suit lifted. “Where is he?”

One of the other men from across the room laughed, and Tony sent a repulsor blast his way. He immediately brought his attention back to Angelo.

“Did you take him?” he asked. 

Angelo laughed as well. “Took you long enough.”

“Is he alive?”

“Yeah, boss man,” he said, tone casual and calm. “He’s alive. By a strand.”

Tony gritted his teeth at the words. “Why? Why did you take him?”

Angelo raised a brow and grinned. “Simple enough, Stark. He worked for _you_. Must be a smart guy, then, eh? Plus, he makes good weapons.”

The anger surging through Tony was enough to kick Angelo out cold. He didn’t have time to think about the bones he broke as the infrared scan took over his heads-up display.

“Any more life forms?” he asked his AI. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. 

_“Not in the building, boss,”_ FRIDAY said. 

Tony clenched his jaw, and within a second, his eyes widened in realization. _Not in the building_. He walked out into the cool air, not a drop of remorse running through him as he eyed the graffitied truck. He didn’t bother checking for a life form through infrared before blasting the lock and opening up the back. He was met with darkness. 

“Pete?” he called out, shining a light from his shoulder. A small reflection bounced right back. A reflection in a pair of watery eyes. “Peter?”

Tony stepped into the back of the truck, stomach twisting in on itself as a shivering figure came into focus. Peter sat against the side in a t-shirt in jeans, lips blue from the cold and eyes as wide as the moon. He was terrified. And Tony didn’t have a single thought running through his head. 

“Pete,” he breathed out, lowering himself onto his knees. He set a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Kid.” 

Peter reacted immediately, limbs thrashing and curling back to shield himself from Tony’s touch. “No!” he cried, hiding his face. “No. D-don’t touch me. Don’t touch me.”

Tony’s heart broke. 

The faceplate melted away, revealing a worried expression as his mind fought for the right words to say. “Pete, it’s just me. It’s just Tony. Okay?”

Peter’s eyes flickered over.

“You’re safe.”

He shook his head in response. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. “Don’t touch me,” was all Peter could say. Tony felt sick at the thought of what might have happened. 

A weight settled onto Tony’s chest, but he wouldn’t let the panic get the best of him. “Okay. That’s—that’s fine. Can you move? Can you walk? Cos’ if you can’t Pete, then I’m gonna have to figure out a way to—”

“I can move,” Peter said. His voice was weak, frail—smaller than Tony had ever heard it before. It was painful to hear. 

Tony stood back, refusing to let the light leave Peter while allowing enough room to give him space. Slowly but surely, Peter stood onto his feet. His knees wobbled as he did so. Getting out of the truck was an even harder ordeal.

Meanwhile, all Tony could think about was how long Peter had been locked away in the back of that truck in the freezing cold. He should have been dead. He had no food, no water. The kid should have been dead. 

“I’m cold,” Peter said once his feet met the pavement.

“I, um—” Tony only took a second to think before the suit peeled away from him. “Get in.”

Peter furrowed his brows and hugged himself. “What?”

“It’ll keep you warm,” Tony said, motioning to the suit. 

Peter nodded hesitantly before letting the suit surround him. Nothing about the situation was how Tony imagined it to be. He hadn’t expected to find the kid so broken and defeated. Deep down, he hadn’t expected to find him at all. Now, they were walking down the avenue side-by-side as police cars whizzed by. He didn’t want the cops to talk to Peter tonight. He didn’t want them to talk to Peter at all.

When Tony was on the phone with May, Peter didn’t utter a word. He sat down along the curb and waited for his aunt’s arrival in silence. Tony dreaded the day when Peter revealed what he went through during the past six months. 

May’s car pulled up fifteen minutes later, and she jumped out of the driver’s seat before her headlights could turn off. “Peter?” she called, meeting Tony’s gaze. She pointed at the Iron Man suit on the sidewalk. “Is that—?”

“He was cold,” Tony answered. 

She had been crying, he could tell. Now that she was there, the tears fell once more. She sat down beside Peter and wrapped her arms around him despite the suit. To Tony’s surprise, Peter let her. He let her hug him for a whole minute as she cried. The faceplate hid any hint of emotion. 

“I’m so—I’m so glad you’re okay,” she cried out, holding the helmet as if it were Peter’s face. She held him close once again. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Tony didn’t know how to feel. He didn’t know what to say. When May turned and stood up to face him, all he wanted to say was, “I’m sorry.”

But instead, he said, “he has to go to a hospital, May,” words falling out fast from his lips. “But he won’t—he won’t let me touch him. I found him in some truck, and I think he’s been there for days. I let him wear the suit so he could stay warm.” 

May nodded and wiped at her eyes. The information wouldn’t truly hit her for another few hours. “I’ll take him,” she said. “Nearest one. You’ll meet us there?”

“Yeah. I’ll meet you there.”

She pivoted on her heel, yet she froze as she sent him a trembling smile. “Thank you.” May ran back over to give him a hug. “ _T_ _hank you_. _"_

Tony didn’t have anything else to say, so he smiled, too. He stood there without speaking another word as Peter stepped out of the suit and into May’s car. When they pulled away, Peter glanced at Tony through the window one last time. He looked lost, helpless, like he wasn’t entirely there.

And Tony felt empty. 

He found Peter, but it wasn’t the Peter he knew. 


	3. Chapter 3

Nearly all of the files on Tony’s server had been deleted. The information he had spent six months collecting now sat floating around a hard drive, waiting to be incinerated when he had the chance. It wasn’t that he wanted to remove the trail that led him to the kid—Tony just wanted to move on. Every single interview, police report, audio file, document, and more, surfed into oblivion with the rest of his unwanted memories. He could purge them all he wanted, but they still existed in his brain. Somewhere. Lost until they were forced out again. 

But Tony didn’t have the temperament to worry about it at the moment. The past two weeks hadn’t been what he expected. In a shocking turn of events, Tony hadn’t heard from Peter since the day he found him. It was, in all honesty, pure hell. Six months of waiting to find out if the kid was okay and then not a damn word after that. Nevertheless, Tony couldn’t be upset with Peter. He couldn’t be upset with May who was trying her hardest to update him on everything. When Tony heard that Peter didn’t want to leave the house, he finally understood. 

The kid was paralyzed with fear. It was a likely case that all Peter had known within the past six months was loneliness and isolation. He couldn’t fix that overnight. Peter was traumatized. 

Still, as Tony cleaned out his workshop of evidence, he wished for something. A text. A call. A new meme that he wouldn’t understand. A smile to tell him that things were okay. Anything.

He had grown accustomed to waiting things out by this point. Iron Maiden played loudly through his workshop, reverberating through his bones as he sorted through which physical papers and files he would keep or destroy. The _destroy_ pile had found a home in a total of three black garbage bags. The _keep_ pile sat in a stack of twelve to his right. He didn’t want to remember much, but he had to keep something. It was in his hoarding nature. 

For the most part, he talked to himself, humming along to the music when his thoughts grew scarily quiet. Tony didn’t have much else to do, which was why he was thankful when the music faded off so FRIDAY could announce that Rhodey was calling. The call was patched through, and a picture of Rhodey lit up on Tony’s screens. 

“Hey, sugar plum, whatcha need?” Tony asked, voice carrying through the room. He sat on the floor with his legs kicked out, papers surrounding him. It was a normal day. 

“Why are you assuming that I need something?” Rhodey said.

Tony shrugged to himself. “I don’t know. Usually, I’m the one that needs something. Thought it’d be fun to switch things up. But seriously, what’s up?”

“They want him at the Fortunato’s trial.”

Tony’s hands stopped shuffling through the papers in front of him. As he pressed his lips into a fine line, thoughts and snippets of worst-case-scenarios popped into his head. “Peter,” he said. “You’re talking about Peter.”

Rhodey didn’t need to confirm nor deny it. “The date is set for February 18th,” he carried on. “I know you haven’t been in contact with him, but if you could just relay the message—” 

“You expect him to just casually stroll up to the trial of a man who kidnapped him?” Tony asked as mild anxiety brewed beneath his skin. He wanted to move on from the past six months, but most of all, he wanted Peter to do so as well. “You can’t be serious, Rhodey.”

“I don’t expect him to be cool with it, no,” said his friend. “But it may help a lot if he shows up. He’s not just a witness, Tones, he’s the victim. He’s really gonna be needed if you want this Fortunato guy to be locked up.”

Tony exhaled through his nose and rested his arm on his knee. “Yeah. True. You got a point. We’ll get him a lawyer then, private one—if he wants to do it. That way it’ll be—”

A young, familiar voice interrupted him. “I’ll do it.”

Tony tilted his head toward the entrance of his workshop. Once he saw who it was, he turned his whole body around soon after. He looked better—Peter did—but he was shrouded by a Stark Industries zip-up that he had stolen last Christmas. He looked like the result of someone recovering from a severely traumatic event. The light in his eyes had yet to return.

“Jesus,” Tony breathed out, holding a hand up to his heart. His knees creaked as he stood up. “Did you hear all of that?”

Peter gave a weak smile. “Pretty much.”

“When did you get here?”

“Like, five minutes ago.”

“Well, why didn’t you let me know? I could’ve—”

“Is that Peter?” Rhodey intervened through the phone. 

Peter took a few steps closer to Tony and the desk. “Hi, Mister Rhodes, sir,” he said, clearing his throat. 

“Hey, kid,” Rhodey answered, chuckling. “What’s goin’ on?”

With a nervous laugh, Peter shrugged as he looked over at Tony. “Oh, not much. Just saying hi to Mister Stark.”

Tony, meanwhile, was perplexed and humored by this. With one eyebrow raised, he stared at Peter with his mouth hung slightly. The last Tony had seen of the kid, he was shivering in a tin can and barely uttering a word. Now, he wore a smile. It wasn’t a genuine smile, but it was there. And it was confusing.

“Good to have you back, Peter,” Rhodey said.

“Good to be back.”

Tony had lost his reality for a second, so he snapped back into the picture. “Okay—hey, Rhodey,” he said, finger hovering over the _end call_ button on the holographic screen, “I’m just gonna call you back later, so we can talk more about—” The call dropped, and the screen returned back to the way it was. “—wait, did he hang up?”

“I think he just hung up.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Peter snickered and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. After that, silence followed. There wasn’t a single casual thing Tony could think off the top of his brain. Not even a coherent word. The kid in front of him had been through more than he was aware of, yet he stood tall. He appeared healthy. And Tony didn’t know what to say.

After a few more seconds of awkward stares, he spoke up. “We can talk about this, you know. If you think the trial may be too—”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t care,” he said firmly. “He’s guilty. They need to hear it from me.”

The words rattled in Tony’s head. Suddenly the moment stopped feeling so surreal. Peter was there in the flesh, breathing and shrugging his shoulders as if the past six months hadn’t been agonizing for the both of them. Peter was back. He was finally back. And Tony was acting like a complete idiot. 

He smiled sadly, scratching at his temple while he searched for a topic of conversation. “Um—”

“I’m sorry, Mister Stark,” Peter uttered before Tony said something stupid. He stepped closer to him. “I should’ve dropped by a lot sooner.” 

Tony waved a hand in a nonchalant manner. “No, kid. Really. It’s—”

“I’ve been doing better,” Peter said, and a small smile warmed his cheeks. “At least, this week, that is. Went grocery shopping with May. Hung out with Ned and MJ. I just—I don’t know why I got so scared to see you.”

It didn’t surprise Tony, but he wished it did. “Scared?” he chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. “I’m the least scary person ever.”

“I mean, you’re kinda intimidating.” 

“That’s probably true.” 

Peter seemed uncomfortable to be standing there. He seemed uncomfortable to speak about something that clearly harmed him to say. He bounced in his shoes, and Tony pretended not to notice. 

“Oh, uh—” Peter picked something off of the table. A miniature drone of-sorts, something Tony had been working on long ago yet gave up on. “I kinda dropped this when you were listening to music, so I guess you didn’t hear it happen. But I think I broke it.”

“No biggie,” Tony said, taking the drone from Peter’s hands. “I totally don’t even know what I made it for. I’ll just fix it up when I feel like it.”

“I can do it.”

“Do what?”

“Fix it.” Peter nodded feverishly and took back the drone. “I’ll do it right now. And then I can get back to working on those step silencers. Did you finish up the design for that electrically insulated suit I was telling you about months ago?” As he talked and walked, he kept his head down so he wouldn’t meet Tony’s gaze. “I know you said it was kinda dangerous, but I figured if we just installed some dampeners, it’ll probably take the edge off so I don’t accidentally blow myself into a million pieces. Y’know?”

Tony stood, frozen in one place with an eyebrow raised. By this point, Peter had already sat down at the cluttered workbench he once worked at and began taking apart the drone. 

“How many five-hour energies have you had today, Pete?” Tony asked, folding his arms and leaning back against his desk. The mountain of evidence—the stacks upon stacks of papers that barely had anything to do with bringing Peter back—still sat at his feet. “Thought May and I agreed that you’re only allowed one of those once a month.”

“Oh, I can’t drink them anymore,” Peter replied. He continued to keep his head low. “Makes me queasy.” 

“Been eating okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” He shrugged. “Had Froot Loops today.”

Tony didn’t know how to ease any of the kid’s anxiety. He knew the signs well—he could see the irritability, but it showed its true colors in Peter’s reluctance to talk about the issue at hand. There was no telling what the kid had been going through both physically and mentally, even when he got home. May couldn’t get a word out of him. Peter was bottling it up, and Tony could tell that it wasn’t doing him any good. 

“I think I’m actually starting to miss homework,” Peter said as metal parts from the now-dismantled drone clattered to the table. “If I don’t get to solve another algebraic equation within the next week, I think my brain will explode, Mister Stark.” 

“What have you been doing anyway?” Tony asked. In his head, he meant to say _within the past six months_ , but the message wasn’t clear.

“A lot of puzzles,” Peter answered, continuing, “just whatever May wanted to do, I guess. We have a lot of puzzles. And we did a lot of game nights, too. She taught me how to make sourdough bread, but I already forget. I felt like I was back in seventh-grade science again cos’ of the yeast. We used to do a lot of yeast experiments but they weren’t that exciting. Oh, and I made the Avengers Tower out of LEGOs. I broke it though. Yeah, that’s pretty much it. I haven’t been doing much else. Got a new toothbrush.”

Tony had never felt the urge to facepalm so badly in his life. He understood why the kid was skirting around the subject, but he didn’t have to make it so hard. 

“Wow,” Tony muttered. He still kept his arms crossed over his chest, and Peter still refused to look up. “Now I know where to go for some good-quality entertainment ‘round these parts. Casa de Parker. Y’know, Pepper actually gave May a few bread recipes while you were—”

“You can come over for a game night if you want,” said Peter, voice wavering but only in the slightest. “But just so you know, I’m the Uno King.”

“I challenge that.”

“Okay, you’re on Mister Stark.”

A few beats of silence followed, and that was when Tony could tell that Peter really had been avoiding his problems. The energy in the room shifted. Peter seemed to stiffen, knuckles rigid and frozen around a screwdriver as he stared down at the floor. His frown tightened. 

“I just can’t believe I was gone for _six months_ ,” he whispered a second later. 

Tony’s heart twisted in his chest. “Pete…”

Swiftly, Peter’s hands fell onto the metal tabletop. The sound echoed around the room and down Tony’s spine. “I’m not—I’m not _broken_. So many people think that. And I’m really tired of people treating me like I’m broken.”

The sudden outburst had been expected, but nevertheless, Tony was taken aback by the words. Had he treated Peter like he was broken? 

“I’m terrified though,” Peter continued, meeting Tony’s eyes for once. “Like, really terrified. I was gone for six months. I-I didn’t even know it was six months until May told me. I feel like everything has changed, but I haven’t. I just want everything to be the way it had been before. I don’t—” He sighed and knuckled at his eyes. “I don’t even know if Queens needs me anymore.”

“Well, that’s an absolute lie.” 

“What?”

“About Queens not needing you,” Tony said, “cos’ they do. And they’ve definitely missed you. Even had the Daily Bugle missing you, too. That’s an automatic win.”

Peter didn’t react. He hardly batted an eye.

“But also, it’s okay to be scared.” Tony pulled a stool over to the workbench and sat across from Peter. “I’d be nervous if you weren’t. Plus, you’re talking to the world’s finest specialist in experiencing far too many traumatic events. There’s always gonna be a way to come back from this. If you don’t wanna talk about it, I won’t make you.” 

Peter glanced at Tony, a slightly defeated look in his eyes as he nodded. 

“Also, I suppose you already know that I spent pretty much every damn day lookin’ for you these past six months,” Tony said with a hint of a sideways smile. 

A pair of furrowed brows replied back. 

“Did May not tell you anything?”

“She didn’t talk about a lot,” Peter mumbled. His eyes had glossed over. “Didn’t wanna overwhelm me. Just let me open up when I wanted to.”

Tony hummed. “Well, I won’t really sugarcoat it cos’ maybe it’s something you need to hear. I kinda went through a tiny bit of a breakdown—a tiny bit—and now I’m having to dispose of the aftermath. Those trash bags over there are full of evidence and whatnot. None of it actually helped, to be honest, it was more Rhodey’s doing. But once you were gone and I realized the police were useless, I had to—well, I took matters into my own hands is what I’m trying to say. Rhodey thought I was obsessing, but I just said you were worth it. And it worked out. You’re standing here today, aren’t you?”

Peter twisted his lips, shrugged, and then attempted to chuckle. “At what cost?” The smile quickly fell.

This made Tony’s stomach tie in a knot. He didn’t know anything about the past six months, not on Peter’s end. “The hell did they do to you, Pete?”

It was a question Peter hadn’t been expecting, one that made his entire composure dwindle in the blink of an eye. His nostrils flared as he held his bottom lip between his teeth to keep it from trembling. Meanwhile, tears welled in his eyes. When his breathing picked up, Tony slid his stool over to his side. 

But as he was about to set an arm around the kid’s shoulders, Peter’s heaving slowed, and he looked up at Tony with a large, beady gaze. “They made me a murderer, Mister Stark.”

Tony’s eyebrows knitted together, and he mentally prepared himself to hear the worst. 

“Y-you remember the bomb that went off in Hell’s Kitchen last summer?” Peter asked lowly. “That was them—er, uh—me. They made me do it. A-and they made me design these—these massive weapons and tech. Stuff that’s killed people, Tony, and I’m the reason why they’re dead.”

“No—”

“And when I refused to fire the weapons myself, they would beat me up for it.” As Peter spoke, he fidgeted with his hands on the table, picking at cuticles until they bled. It was clear the mental wounds were still fresh but that he had almost fallen numb. “And they would starve me. Isolate me. Wanted me to feel alone. I had no one. I-I just got so _mad_ at myself because they wouldn’t have wanted me if I wasn’t smart, you know? I know I’m smart, I just—if I wasn’t, maybe they wouldn’t have—”

“Hey, _hey_ , do not do that,” Tony said firmly. “Do not beat yourself up or blame yourself for their wrongdoing; ‘kay? You’ve got no reason to blame yourself.”

“Yeah, but—”

“This brain of yours has done so many great things, Pete.” Tony went to playfully tap on Peter’s forehead, but he retracted his hand. _Don’t touch me_ rang in his ears from weeks ago. “You’ve never intentionally used it to harm anyone and you know that. These people took advantage of you, and that is not your fault. You understand me?”

Peter nodded. His nose was red due to the tears threatening to spill. 

“People like to take advantage of us geniuses,” Tony mentioned, leaning back. “It happened to me nearly ten years ago.”

“Yeah, but you made Iron Man because of it.”

“And Iron Man is still both a blessing and a curse.”

Peter looked down at his hands on the table and sniffed. “I should be happy I’m alive,” he said, “shouldn’t I? I should be happy I made it out of there. Why—” His voice broke. “Why don’t I feel happy?”

“Well, just cos’ you’re out of there doesn’t mean the feelings will go away, kiddo,” Tony said, and he could hear Rhodey nagging him in his brain. _You’re parenting him, Tones. What you’re doing is called parenting. Get used to it_. “It’s called trauma for a reason. That stuff takes oodles of time. But you’ve still got me and May, your friends, and even Happy, Rhodey, Pepper—all of us—to be by your side when you need us. And, God, please, don’t ever worry about needing us. I would cross oceans for you, you know.”

“If I could’ve been Spider-Man,” Peter said. “If I could’ve—”

Tony shook his head. “Uh-uh, none of that. None of those _what-ifs_. I’m officially removing those thoughts from your head. You did what you could and now you’re here. You didn’t want them to hurt anyone, so you helped them. That what happened?”

Peter nodded meekly, looking as if he was about to be sick. “Yeah,” he tried to say, but it sounded more like a small exhale. “Threatened to hurt my family and friends. May, Ned, MJ… you.”

“They knew how to manipulate you,” Tony replied, “and that will never be your fault. Okay? Your worth is not dependent on what they did to you or what they made you do. Those guys were evil, deceitful, and they hurt you. That’s hard, Pete. It’s hard to come back from. No one is expected to always stay strong through stuff like this. What’s important is that you’re here—you’re not there—and you are _not_ guilty. And you’re not alone either.” 

He finished with a smile. A warm smile to let Peter know that he meant every word he said. 

Peter shared a weak smile as well. 

“Now—” Tony rose to his feet and clapped his hands. “ _You_ are in desperate need of serotonin, and I’m guessing it’s been six months since you’ve been able to marathon _Star Wars_. So, I will be willing to set aside my indifference toward the prequels for this weekend only. Sound good? Any questions?”

Peter’s smile grew a little. “Do I get to pick the snacks?”

“Do you get to—what kind of question is that?” Tony said loudly. “I already bought every snack food that you like in existence.” 

“Peach rings?”

“I would never _not_ get peach rings.”

By that point, all of the tears had dried. Peter’s hands no longer shook, and his smile had largened to a grin. “Thank you, Mister Stark,” he said, standing up. 

“Anything for you, Mister Parker.” Tony shot a wink in Peter’s direction. “Can I get that hug now? You’ve kept me waiting for two weeks.”

Peter didn’t say another word after that, instead, letting his arms rest around his mentor’s back as he breathed out deeply. He was home. Peter was home. That was all Tony could ask for. 


End file.
